Motion
by Mandolina Lightrobber
Summary: To live is to move on. To develop oneself and test oneself continuously in order to keep advancing. Modern day AU. [Onyxshipping. Dark Magician x Magician of Black Chaos.]


**A/N:** For the YGO Fanfiction Contest Season 13 Round 4. The pairing: **Onyxshipping (Dark Magician x Magician of Black Chaos)**. Modern time AU fashioned after the competitive reality TV series' _Psychic Challenge_ Russian version (titled " _Battle of the extrasensory_ ").

 **Disclaimer:** Kazuki Takahashi and all associated companies are the rightful owners of the Yuugiou! franchise and I claim no association with any of them. No copyright infringement intended with this and no money is being made from this. Please support the creator by purchasing the official releases.

 **Warnings:** none.

* * *

 **Motion**

 _ **Task 1**_

He isn't exactly sure what he's doing here, in this auditorium, amid several hundred other psychics. But he's here. He's been interviewed and selected for participation, so he's sitting in the very back and trying to keep his breathing even and his head clear. He's dizzy with uncertainty and doubt and though he's just a beginner in this area, he can easily tell that there are many powerful people in this room. He can feel their energies swarming in the room, some of them light and sparkling, and some – choking and heavy.

He turns his attention to the stage where a sturdy pedestal holds a black box. They're supposed to determine what's inside it to pass this stage of the contest. He focuses on it, staring at the black cloth draped over the wooden case without actually seeing it and numbs himself to all the mental interference. The room is rich with the magical presence of all the other psychics and magicians, and he has to zero in on one particular energy amid all that chaos – the one emanating from the box and whatever is hidden within it.

It's a picture. Taken sometime in the previous century. Death whispers from it and he pulls his mind back. The energies in the room hit him hard and he needs to take a moment just to breathe. He realises he can't stay here. He's only moments from passing out. He gets to his feet, feeling the world sway, mumbles weak excuses to the people he pushes past to get out of the row and heads for the door. Before he can leave, he is intercepted by the staff and one cameraman who documents his every move, every expression.

"Please... I need some fresh air," he whispers to the lady with a staff badge on her lapel and she compassionately points him towards the closest exit.

Another staff member brings him a glass of water, though he hasn't asked for it. He guesses they're a little bit psychics too, reading the participants' minds. The cameraman is also nearby; he can't tell if it's the same one as before or a different one. They all wear the same uniforms and their faces are hidden behind the equipment. After a polite moment of solitude, yet another staff member steps forth.

"Would you be up for answering a few questions?" she inquires courteously.

He only nods, taking another long gulp from the glass and drawing in a deep breath.

"Did you manage to figure out what's inside the box?"

He nods again, setting the empty glass aside. "It's a photo taken in the last century. The lady shown on it is no longer alive."

The staff member nods, acknowledging his answer, and asks her next question, "What did you think of this task?"

He shrugs; it's hard to compare when he hasn't seen the other tasks, but he guesses it's easy enough for the start.

She barrels on. "What did you think of the competition?"

"There... are many strong people gathered here."

Seeing that he has nothing else to add to the interview and noting his wish to leave, she bids him farewell for the time being and promises that they will get in touch with him to let him know whether he's passed the first round.

 _ **Task 2**_

He's still not sure what he's doing here, standing in front of a large warehouse with several dozen others, waiting for his turn to enter and face the next test. The energies from the people around him are stronger here, more defined. All other psychics have a definite presence and for a moment he wonders what kind of vibe he's giving off.

Eventually, his turn comes to enter the building. One of the many show's hosts – he's seen them all on TV after watching the first two seasons of the psychic battle – explains to him the task at hand. He is to find the car which has a living person hiding in its trunk and he has ten minutes to do so. There are about thirty cars in front of him of different makes and models and with different signs of wear. Some have living owners, some have been towed in and fixed up specifically for this competition, and, if he isn't mistaken, at least two are brand new and fresh from a car dealer that have never been driven before.

He slowly walks down the rows between the cars and focuses his mind. Every now and again he closes his eyes to make the task easier for himself and to escape the lights and the cameras pointed at him. He only needs to find one thread amid the chaos and...

There.

He doesn't need the ten minutes.

"Last row on the left. Close to middle. Blue car."

The host makes one of his signature faces. Mahaad doesn't have to look at him to know it. He's seen it on TV time and time again and he can almost feel the emotion behind it.

He stops beside the car that draws him in, presses his palm to the metal, and looks back at the host. The warmth of a living being radiates up through the metal. "This one."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes."

"Let's take a look then," the host says, though he already knows what they'll find. He opens the trunk, revealing the person hiding inside: a middle aged man with a slight limp and a sad look in his eyes, though he is genuinely happy to having been found. Only a few have managed it so far.

"A chance led you here," Mahaad tells him after they've exchanged their greetings and after he's taken a quiet moment of just looking at him. "You were searching for answers."

"Well," the man admits, "I was just passing by the street corner where these people were hunting for volunteers and thought – why not?"

"Your limp," he continues softly, carefully. "It happened after you lost someone dear to you, didn't it?"

The man looks startled, but agrees. After a moment's hesitation he asks to go off camera to discuss his troubles before the young magician leaves the warehouse.

 _ **Task 3**_

He is led into a room blindfolded. The cloth is wide and thick and there are goggles strapped over it to keep it in place. He can't see even a glimmer of light and even the sound is slightly muted. Before him sits a person whom he has to describe and, ideally, whose identity he is to determine. He stretches his hands out in front of himself and focuses on the energies swirling inside the room before he starts talking about the things he feels emanating from Mister X.

He doesn't manage to guess the person's identity, but he does determine that before him sits a man with an artistic profession. When he is allowed to take off his mask, it takes him a moment to place the face he's seen in press every now and again. The man, forbidden from speaking throughout the psychic's monologue to not give away his identity, can now finally confirm that mostly everything that's been said is true.

He isn't asked for any additional time and is escorted out of the building and away to his quarters to await the results.

 _ **Pause**_

Mahaad can hardly believe that he's in the top twelve contestants. He stands in the room side by side with the strongest magicians and psychics, clairvoyants and self-proclaimed gurus, and embodiments of powerful spirits and he feels their energies colliding. He can't deny that they are powerful and skilled at what they do. He wonders briefly where he and his level of ability stand by comparison, but he pushes those thoughts away and looks over his competition. They are very different and colourful personalities; several of them are dressed in flashy clothes, decked out in assorted jewellery, others are as plain as he is.

The main host introduces them to the rules of the contest, which most of them already know, having watched the previous seasons. He congratulates them all with getting this far, naming this already a victory of sorts, as they have gotten through the three tests which four hundred others didn't and now they will compete until one strongest is determined.

 _ **Task 4**_

He is facing the first official task of the competition. At this point, they're not yet risking anything and there's no elimination this round, but it's no reason to take it lightly because they are looking at people who need their help. Who have come in contact with the show's administration, having exhausted all other options and found them ineffective or severely lacking.

He holds a black envelope with a photograph inside and tries to determine the energies that waft from it. He doesn't like the feeling that he gets from it. He takes a long look at the elderly couple sitting across from him, then diverts his attention back at the envelope and focuses his gaze inwards. The trance-like state he enters makes it easier for him to work with the images and emotions that crash over him almost like a tidal wave. He speaks, but afterwards he won't remember a part of what he's said; he just remembers the terror and pain that overwhelmed him when he connected with the spirit of the late young man whose picture is in his hands.

The backlash comes afterwards when he's out of the trance and out of the spotlight. His gaze blurs with tears and he's shaking. He has to use the wall for support until the worst of it passes and he can keep moving on.

He's on his way out of the building and back to the vehicle that is to take him to his apartment when he runs into another contestant. For a moment, flashy feathered shoulder pads fill his vision and a sharp musk fills his nose. It's the Spirit of Chaos incarnate, as he calls himself. He stops for a moment to look Mahaad over and lets out a sound that's almost like a sigh.

"You, beginners," he says with mild distaste in his voice. "Why don't you learn how to protect yourself from all the negativity? It's going to eat you up and suck you dry before the show's even halfway."

Mahaad can't think of an answer on the spot; he's still reeling from the torment he experienced upon plunging himself into the final hours of the young man whose inexplicable death had turned his elderly parents' life upside down. He wants to help as many people as he can with his unusual gift. He can't do it if he goes around with mental barriers surrounding him. True, he will be protected from all the bad, destructive energies other people emit and force his way, but at the same time he won't be letting through all the good things. He doesn't think losing that is worth the emotional numbness that would greatly aid him in getting through what he's signed up for.

He decides that, if he can no longer continue in this competition because he's not yet ready to deal with the mental pressure, so be it. He'll take his leave knowing that he has done everything he could. He's not here to win. He's here to test himself.

 _ **Task ...**_

It gets harder with each week to pull through after all the grief and loss, and pain they witness and taste through the deceased and missing people, after all the tragedies they are faced with. Mahaad doesn't always get everything perfectly right and there are questions he can never answer, but he tries his best and always does everything according to his conscience. He always tries to at least console the people he's facing, the people who've come seeking help and answers.

Week after week he pulls through; he sheds light wherever he can, he finds warm words and encouragement where it's needed the most. He gives hope where people have lost all sight of it; he consoles those who are drowning in their own emotions even though his own are crashing over him in tides.

Week after week he says goodbye to fellow contestants. Some of them he's gotten to know closely and has become friends with, some others have kept their distance and he has barely exchanged words with them. He sees their disappointment and sometimes relief.

Chaos keeps his distance from other contestants, often being chosen as the best psychic of the week; the one to excellently manage all the tasks. He seems to pass through life only slightly touching everything around him, but his touch leaves deep imprints in the lives of those surrounding him. Including Mahaad. He finds himself drawn in, though he can't quite agree with Chaos' practices and way of working. Chaos thinks of him the same. He sees him as a beginner who doesn't yet know how to handle himself and his abilities, and who wastes his skill and energy instead of conserving it and wielding it with care.

"You'll burn yourself out," Chaos tells him snidely while they wait for the host to arrive and announce the final three contenders. "I'm surprised you haven't already."

Mahaad only smiles at that. If he burns out, so be it. Chaos fails to understand one thing. All of the bad things he has to face, all the emotions he has to fight through, all the mental torment is worth it because the good he leaves behind, the hope he lights anew in the hearts of desperate people give him strength to move on.

The host arrives with a white and a black envelope to announce the best and the worst psychic of the week and to announce the three finalists who will compete for the title of the strongest. Chaos and Mahaad's pictures are in the white envelope, marking them both as the best ones.

For the next week, they will face their last tasks and the viewers will determine the winner by voting. Of course, it is no reason to take it easy; people depend on them and their visions, their abilities to see beyond death. When the three finalists are asked to give a message to their fans and supporters before the voting starts, Mahaad finally voices his answer to the question Chaos asked him in the very beginning of the competition. He isn't here to win. He's here to see how much good he can do in his life, how many tears he can turn into smiles. He speaks into the camera, addressing the people on the other side of the TV, but his mind is on Chaos.

"You have to be a sieve that lets through all the good things while allowing the bad things to pass by and fall away. If you close yourself to all negative experiences, you deny the positive experiences an access to yourself as well."


End file.
